


More Than Anyone

by itsthedetails



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-11-30
Updated: 2006-11-30
Packaged: 2017-10-24 03:23:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/258386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsthedetails/pseuds/itsthedetails
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Flashbacks from Skin.</p>
    </blockquote>





	More Than Anyone

**Author's Note:**

> Flashbacks from Skin.

  
An incessant ringing is pulling Dean from a deep sleep. He and Sam didn’t get in until dawn this morning having chased a werewolf all night before killing the nasty beast and all he wants is to sleep through until night falls again.

The annoying trill seems to get impossibly louder as Dean realizes it is the ring from Sam’s cell phone. Of course it would be Sam who would choose the most obnoxious ring available. Dean starts to roll over to tell Sam to either answer the phone or silence the damn thing, when the sound abruptly stops. He thinks that Sam has ended the call until he hears Sam’s rumbled whisper, “Hey, Andy—no, I’m not doing anything.”

Dean can hear Sam move carefully around the room and the motel door open then close softly. Dean sits up in his bed—he’s sleep-rumpled—t-shirt askew, hair sticking out in all directions and he slides soundlessly from bed to try and eavesdrop on Sam’s conversation

Dean sneaks stealthily to the window and peeks—curious as to why Sam felt the need to take this particular conversion out to the porch of the motel room. He strains to hear the conversation, but he can only grasp bits and pieces. He can tell that Sam’s recounted their last hunt and can hear him chuckle at something amusing Andy tells him.

Dean leans back. He’s a little surprised, not having realized Sam and Andy kept in contact. He listens for a few more minutes until he hears Sam tell Andy good-bye and that he’ll call him in a few days.

Dean heaves himself back onto his bed and burrows down, like he hadn’t been eavesdropping on Sam’s conversation.

The door opens and Sam stands haloed in the mid-afternoon sun. “You up?”

Dean runs his hand through his hair, and pretends that he’d just woken up. “Who ya talkin’ to?”

Sam looks puzzled and then looks down realizing he still has his phone in his hand. “Andy.”

Dean raises a questioning eyebrow and sits up further. “‘S’everything alright?”

Sam quirks a crooked smile. “Everything’s fine. We’re just catching up. We’re friends. You’d know what that’s like if you’d bother to make any.”

There’s no maliciousness in his voice. He doesn’t mean it to hurt Dean, but it hurts him none the less. He throws the blanket back and heads to the bathroom answering gruffly, “Yeah, whatever.”

***

Days pass by. They move from one motel to the next; do some research and kill a vengeful spirit. They’re staying at another dingy motel while they look for a new case. Their room is dimly lit and made gloomier by the dark wood paneling and deep brown carpet. The dreary atmosphere matches the mood of the recent weather. A storms been brewing for days and the purple sky is threatening to split open at any moment.

Dean is sprawled across his bed on his belly, lounging like a lazy lion, lying in wait for its next prey. He’s reading a local newspaper, a pen hanging from his mouth as he gnaws away on the cap; while Sam searches the internet. Sam sighs and flips around, straddling the chair to face Dean. “Dean?”

Dean doesn’t look up from the paper. “Hmmm?”

“Dean?”

Dean drops the paper and looks at Sam, slightly annoyed. “What?”

Sam hesitates before committing to whatever he’s going to say. “Uh, is there something wrong?”

Dean sits up on the bed. “Huh? What do you mean? Nothing’s wrong.”

Sam shifts nervously in his seat. “Well ever since we left Tennessee you’ve been kinda quiet and—” Dean waits expectantly with a raised eyebrow for Sam to finish his statement. “—and you haven’t touched me either.”

Dean rolls his eyes and settles back against his pillow. “Stop being such a girl, Sammy. Nothing’s going on.”

Sam isn’t letting this go and pushes harder. “Are you mad because I was talking to Andy? He’s a good guy, Dean. He’s a good friend.”

Dean flinches at the word ‘friend’, but quickly shifts on the bed to cover. Sam sees it though; he knows he’s hit on something. “Do you have a problem with Andy?”

“No.” Dean folds and refolds his newspaper. “I’m the one who told you he was a good guy to begin with.”

Sam moves from his chair to sit on the other bed closer to Dean. “What is it then?”

Dean huffs, “Nothing, Sam, just drop it.”

“I’m not dropping it, Dean.” A hint of annoyance entering his voice, “Why do you have a problem with me being friends with him?”

Dean’s had enough and stands, grabbing his coat. “I don’t have a problem with you being friends with Andy. You can be _friends_ with who ever you want.” Without a glance back, Dean is out the door and Sam is left confused and a little pissed.

***

Dean’s been sitting in a local bar for the past hour. There’s a lively crowd buzzing around him, but he doesn’t even notice. A pool table sits in the corner waiting for him to run the table, but tonight he’s not in the mood to play. He can’t stop thinking about what Sam said in Tennesse about his ability to make friends. It’s not the first time he’s pointed out Dean’s lack of friends like there is something wrong with it.

 _Dean pulled the Impala into the gas station and paused for a moment to watch Sam fiddle with his PDA. “Alright, I figure we’d hit Tucumcari by lunch, then head south, hit Bisbee by midnight.” Dean continued to watch as Sam seemingly ignored him. “Sam wears women’s underwear.”_

 _Sam didn’t look up from his PDA. “I’ve been listening, I’m just busy.”_

 _Dean opened the driver side door and got out of the car. “Busy doing what?”_

 _Sam answered when Dean leaned against the passenger side of the car and began pumping gas. “Reading emails.”_

 _Dean leaned in to get a closer look at what Sam was doing. “Emails from who?”_

 _Sam continued to read from his PDA. “From my friends at Stanford.”_

 _Dean looked a little taken aback. “You’re kidding. You still keep in touch with your college buddies?”_

 _Sam finally looked up and shrugged. “Why not?”_

 _Dean checked the pump and asked, “Well, what exactly do you tell ‘em? You know, about where you’ve been, what you’ve been doing?”_

 _Sam goes back to scrolling through his email. “I tell ‘em I’m on a road trip with my big brother. I tell them I needed some time off after Jess.”_

 _Dean leaned on the open window of the passenger side. “Oh, so you lie.”_

 _Sam looked a little uncomfortable. “No. I just don’t tell ‘em….everything.”_

 _Dean straightened back up. “Yeah, that’s called lying. I mean, hey, man, I get it, telling the truth is far worse.”_

 _Sam met Dean’s gaze. “So, what am I supposed to do, just cut everybody out of my life?”_

 _Dean gave him a shrug as an answer._

 _“You’re serious?_

 _Dean finished up with the gas pump and screwed the gas cap back on. “Look, it sucks, but in a job like this, you can’t get close to people, period.”_

 _Sam looked at Dean in disbelief. “You’re kind of anti-social, you know that?”_

 _Dean turned away from Sam to return back to the driver’s side and mumbled, “Yeah, whatever.”_

Dean blinks away the memory and flashes the bartender a smile, tipping a finger toward his empty beer, signaling for another. He wonders if that’s what Sam really thinks; that he’s anti-social, that he doesn’t want friends.

He sips at the new beer that’s been set in front of him. It disappoints him to realize that Sam doesn’t know him at all.

***

It’s late when Dean stumbles back to the motel. The thunderstorm that had been threatening earlier has kicked up and he just makes it under the motel’s awning when the sky breaks apart letting loose a barrage of freezing rain. He stands, for a moment, watching the curtain of water fall fast and furious before turning reluctantly to enter the room. He hopes Sam’s already asleep or at least in bed pretending to be asleep. He’s not in the mood for a heart-to-heart chick flick moment.

To his frustration he finds Sam waiting up for him. Dean ignores Sam’s expectant stare and drops onto his bed. He kicks off his boots in the deafening silence of the room. He’s determined not to have this conversation with Sam. One boot then the other makes a heavy sound as they hit the floor successively.

He pulls his t-shirt over his head and can feel Sam’s stare burning into his back. He stiffens for a moment then shimmies out of his jeans. He leaves them in a pile on the floor acutely aware of how Sam’s gaze has intensified. Dean pointedly ignores Sam and with stiff, jerky movements pulls back the covers and climbs into bed. He’s frustrated with himself for letting this bother him and aggravated with Sam for not dropping it like he asked.

Dean turns to the far wall away from Sam’s bed and burrows under his blanket. There’s such a loud silence buzzing through the room Dean almost doesn’t hear when Sam finally decides to speak. “You’re really just gonna go to bed? You’re not even going to talk to me.”

Dean sighs, feeling completely drained, and stays facing away from Sam. “Nothing _to_ say, Sammy. I’m tired. Can’t you just let me sleep?”

There’s frustration in Sam’s voice when he huffs out, “No. I want to know why you have such a problem with me keeping in touch with friends—with me having friends at all.”

“No problem with you talking to your friends, no problem with you having friends. See? All better, can I sleep now?”

Sam’s frustration has morphed into full-on anger. “Damn it, Dean! Can’t you just talk to me?”

Dean throws the covers back and sits up abruptly. There’s a hint of desperation that leaks out despite his effort to keep his voice cool and even. “What do you want from me, Sam? You want to have a caring and sharing moment where I tell you that I’m jealous that you have all these friends and I wish I had that? Well sorry, it’s not gonna happen, Sam, because I don’t want or need that. That’s not the problem.”

Sam gapes for a moment—mouth dropped open—until a triumphant grin crawls across his face. The timber of his voice softens and he asks, “So tell me what the problem _is_?”

Dean deflates and scrubs a hand over his face. “Sam, my problem is that you _think_ that I’m ‘anti-social’ or that I can’t make friends. You _know_ I’ve never had a problem making friends and I wouldn’t have a problem keeping them if I wanted them. I just never needed fifty people emailing me or calling me up to chat. I had my best friend with me all the time, Sam. I had _you_ , but I guess I was never that for you, huh? ‘Cause every place we moved to as kids, every new school, every new town, you _needed_ to make friends. Hell, you’re still picking up strays when _I’m_ right fucking here.”

Dean sighs again, wishing that Sam hadn’t forced this conversation on him. “Sam, even though I hate these girly talks more than anything, I always find some way to let you know anything important going on with me. You, Sam, you email people who don’t know anything about the real you or chat it up with some guy we just met. So, yeah, there it is. That’s my fuckin’ problem, alright. Can you just drop this now and let me get some sleep?”

It’s quiet and Dean takes Sam’s silence as his answer. He rolls over and buries his head in his pillow, hoping to have put an end to the entire sappy conversation. Dean’s already halfway asleep when he feels the bed dip behind him and a warm hand drift over his shoulder blade, down his back.

Dean sags back into the touch, seeking out the warmth of Sam’s hands, but isn’t willing to relent entirely. “Sam, please, I’m tired.”

He feels Sam’s breath ghost over the shell of his ear, sending a tremor through his body.

Sam traces each knob of Dean’s spine with his thumb and then drops a kiss on each one as he moves his fingers to the next. “I can’t believe you don’t know.”

“Know what?” Dean whispers on a breathy sigh, as Sam continues to mouth down Dean’s back and his fingers snake around to tweak a nipple.

He can feel Sam smile against his skin. “That you _are_ my best friend too. That all those other people only get bits and pieces of me, but you get everything from the cranky early mornings, to the jokes, to…this.” Sam rolls Dean onto his back and settles himself between Dean’s thighs. He places wet, sloppy kisses on Dean’s belly, works his way up to pull a nipple into his mouth, finally he captures Dean’s mouth with his. Sam presses his tongue against Dean’s and savors the taste—the cheap beer, the salted peanuts, the spicy flavor that’s uniquely Dean.

Sam kisses across Dean’s jaw and into the hollow of his throat. “Dean, no one else knows me the way you do—I don’t _let_ anyone else know me the way you do.”

Dean groans and rolls his hips under Sam. Dean tugs a fist full of Sam’s hair and pulls him back in for another kiss. He skates his free hand down Sam’s back, over the firm curve his ass and under the soft cotton of Sam’s boxers to grab tightly, grinding their cocks together.

Sam arches, exposing his neck to Dean, giving Dean the chance to suck at his collarbone. Sam’s open and vulnerable above him and Dean’s annoyance at Sam melts away completely. His whole body is warmed by Sam’s words, his heart beat thumping a loud bump-bump upon hearing Sam confess that he doesn’t let anyone know him like he let’s Dean know him.

Dean digs his hands into Sam’s hips and flips them over, a surge of desire pulsing through him. He sits up in his knees and pushes Sam’s underwear over his hips and off his long, muscular legs. He shifts forward to trail his fingers across Sam’s abdomen and through the dark brown curls at the root of Sam’s cock. He wraps a strong grip around Sam’s dick and gives a good tug.

Dean leans in and licks a slow slick strip up the length of his brother’s cock. “Want to taste you, Sammy.”

Sam bucks his hips up and hisses, “Fuck…yes.”

Dean tongues the slit, lapping up the drop of pre-come before taking his brother whole. He works his throat, swallowing as much as he can. He groans causing a vibration that makes Sam tremble underneath him.

Sam’s groping at Dean’s short spiky hair and moaning like he’s never had his dick sucked before. With a wet pop Dean pulls his spit-glistened lips away and grapples at the night table for the lube. After knocking every other object to floor he sits back on his heels with a victorious smirk. He scrambles out of his own boxers, tossing them off into the darkness and squeezes the base of his cock thinking, _notyetnotyet_.

Dean flips the lid and squeezes a generous amount of lube onto his fingers. Using his knees to spread Sam’s thighs further he slicks the crease of Sam’s ass with the slippery lubricant. He teases Sam with a squeeze to his balls before pushing a finger inside.

Sam’s breath catches as Dean begins to move his finger in and out slowly working him open.

Dean’s eyes are almost solid black orbs as he watches Sam writhe and twist. He adds a second finger and scissors them inside of his brother, fucking him wide open. He’s now got three fingers stretching Sam wide and he’s begging Dean for more _pleaseohgodfuckdeanmore_.

Dean crushes his mouth over Sam’s just as he pushes the head of his cock in. He strokes relentless and fiercely making Sam groan deeply in his chest. Their kiss breaks, Dean’s gasping for air and Sam’s panting out incoherent words, “Dean…fuck…harder…god…so good.”

Dean encircles Sam’s cock with his fist pulling in tandem with every stroke of his own dick. Sweat is rolling down Dean’s back as he loses his rhythm and begins to jerk uncontrollably. “Come on, Sammy, come.”

He feels Sam’s ass clench around his dick as Sam spurts hot and sticky across his own belly and chest. Dean slams in twice more, balls deep, and comes in Sam’s ass, filthy words pouring from his mouth. He slips from his brother’s body with a dirty pop.

Sam’s come is smeared across his torso and Dean’s come is leaking from his ass, they’re messy and sticky and panting hard.

They roll away from the wet spot and drape across each other. Sam runs his fingers through Dean’s hair, soothingly. “No one has me the way you do, Dean. No one has me like this. No. One. You got that?”

Dean’s eyes are hazy and his voice is slurred, but he meets Sam’s intense eyes and answers firmly, “Yeah, I got it.”


End file.
